


The Last Thing I Said to You

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 07:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: Gabriel. Dead.What had been the last thing she had said to him? When was the last time it had truly been him?





	The Last Thing I Said to You

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn’t sure about Cornwell at first, but now 100% convinced of her amazingness. Sorry for overuse of italics and commas, but...
> 
> Set during S01E14

_Gabriel. Dead._

What had been the last thing she had said to him? When was the last time it had truly been him?

Her skin crawls at the thought of the imposter, lying through his teeth, begging her to trust him, his hands on her body and his lips on her skin. She recoils from the fact that she’d _liked_ it, even as she had begun to realise he was not himself.

How had her Gabriel met his end? Slowly? Painfully? Surrounded by enemies, that was for sure. It doesn’t bear thinking about, but these are the questions that lance her brain as she navigates _Discovery_ ’s corridors. The lights seem agonisingly bright and her footsteps echo off the metal floor, each serving to reinforce the mental blows.

Their meeting had been long and confusing, leaving her with more questions than answers. They’d all been glad to leave, to return to more pressing occupations: Stamets to his research, Saru to the bridge, Sarek and Burnham to their surely Vulcan-stiff reconciliation, and Kat to her thoughts.

The rational part of her is happy for Sarek and Burnham, doesn’t begrudge their reunion. At times like these, every glimmer of happiness must be grasped, even if that happiness is someone else’s. But the illogical, unconscious part of her is deeply bitter: it lies on her tongue like cyanide. Their relieved postures, the way they can’t stop looking at each other, like they must constantly remind themselves they’re not dreaming. If Sarek had been human, she’s sure that he would have embraced her. He may insist on the term ‘ward’, but his behaviour shows that she is, in his eyes, nothing less than his daughter. It only serves to highlight her loss.

Her loss is more than it seems. It seems, to others, that she has lost a colleague; the truth is far more, yet it does her no good to say so. She wants to shout her loss from the rooftops, but to do so is to suggest that her pain is singular. It’s not. This war has claimed thousands of the lives. But she’s determined that one day, someone will know the meaning of this loss. She resolves, silently, to name a starship after him – the U.S.S. _Gabriel_ – when they win this war. _If_ they win this war. She thinks he would appreciate that.

She has nothing tangible to remember him by: no badge, no personal effects. She would sooner yield to the Klingons than touch any of imposter-Lorca’s things, even though she knows that they were, originally, her Gabriel’s. He’s tainted them, poisoned them with his cruelty. The same goes for his quarters – she should take them, having seized command of the ship, but instead prefers to sleep in guest quarters.

He’d tried to do that to the _Discovery’_ s crew, as well. He’d failed to whip them into the cold subordinates he’d desired; they hadn’t bent to his will. Somehow, they’ve retained their humanity. The Terran Empire has left its mark, though: they’ve become surer, more courageous and as strong as steel; Saru’s decisiveness, in her moment of hesitation, had proved that. They were soldiers now, without doubt. Suddenly, she’s glad she’s not their enemy. _Discovery_ was always intimidating, even as a science vessel; now, it’s lethal.

Deep in thought, she retreats to her room. _Discovery,_ never truly intended to carry anyone other than Starfleet scientists, has few guest rooms. This room is nearly identical to the captain’s quarters, and she purposefully blocks the resemblance from her kind. She retrieves a glass of Saurian brandy from the replicator in her room and goes to stand by the window.

They’re at warp, so she can’t see anything, as such, but the ever-shifting colours that race past are surprisingly calming. If nothing else, they provide a welcome distraction. A few moments, then she sips her drink. Coughing lightly – God, the stuff’s strong, should be banned, really – she decides that tonight she can mourn. Not just Gabriel, but every other soul that this war has claimed. Tonight, she can grieve. Then, in the morning, she must act. She’ll be lucky to get a full night’s sleep before then, she thinks wryly, between her own ululating thoughts and the chance of a Red Alert.

The rainbow before her, separated from her by only a thin sheet of metal, stirs a memory.

It had been their third year at the Academy. Excited by the prospect of finally being on board a starship, they’d piled into the shuttle, chattering about this and that and what ship have you been assigned to? Kat had known only one person on the shuttle, and even then it was a friends of friends affair. Happily, he seemed to face the same quandary, and they’d settled in adjoining seats with a sigh of relief.

They exchanged a few brief sentences, but then they lifted from the launch pad and Kat redirected her attention to the window, watching the people, the the buildings, then the continent shrink below them. When they broke the atmosphere, she felt the first flutters of nerves tickle her stomach, but it wasn’t until she caught sight of the spacedock that she began to worry in earnest. She wanted this and she had earned it, but there were still shards of doubt in her mind.

Quite suddenly, the magnitude of what they were getting into sunk in. The shuttle went silent, and Kat turned to Gabriel with a smile of trepidation. _It’s funny,_ she’d thought. _He always seems so sure of himself._

His face had quirked into his _well, if that’s how it is, then I guess we’re all_ in expression: eyebrows raised and nose wrinkled, underlined by the beginnings of a smirk. She will misses that expression.

It had been sometime after that, when they’d returned to the Academy to complete their training, that they’d fallen into bed together. It had always been loving, in a roundabout way, although there had never been any suggestion of overt romance, of exclusivity. There had never been time for that.

“We’re married to Starfleet, Katrina,” he’d said once, jokingly, after a few too many drinks. “For better and for worse, until death us do part.”

Ah. The irony.

They’d always assumed, without speaking, that there would be more. Years rising through the ranks, then a gentle retirement into teaching at the Academy. Maybe, eventually, a settlement into love – perhaps with each other, perhaps not. Not this – this bloody, broken end. 

The blessing of her youth had been an eternal optimism about the future, but now she feels unspeakably old; she’s not old, but her bones ache, her heart pangs. The war has hardened her, but she can’t stop the tears from welling. She doesn’t try to fight it. She’s seen enough battles to know that’s one she’d lose.

She remains by the window for a long time, until her vision grows blurry and her glass is empty. Then she goes to bed, and by that time her eyes and cheeks are dry, the void within her aching but resigned, improving.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr as: lady-needless-litany


End file.
